


turn, turn away from the sound

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Singing, Snippet FIc, all the fault of AbominableSnowDude, boys and their emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:25:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: It almost hurts, the way it breaks over him, like icy foam waves on North Altaaran seas. It’s high, clear, as fluid as the curve of glass.Yondu can’t breathe.In which Yondu hears Martinex singing.





	turn, turn away from the sound

**Author's Note:**

> quick snippet based on a prompt from AbominableSnowDude, this is all your fault, you and your angsty head canons <3 <3 <3\. May get more to it or fixing eventually, but as I have many big projects and almost no internet it won't be any time soon. hope it's enjoyed anyways!

It almost hurts, the way it breaks over him, like icy foam waves on North Altaaran seas. It’s high, clear, as fluid as the curve of glass. 

Yondu can’t breathe. 

His hand bites the metal doorframe until it blanches white. He clings tighter though, because  if he lets go he’ll only fall. 

Martinex’s back is to him, torso bared and loose cotton sleep pants clinging as he shifts from side to side. The rag in his hand is turning grey from the dust on the shelves, but by the way they’re gleaming he must be nearly done. 

And he’s singing. 

It must be singing, what’s coming from his mouth, but Yondu’s never heard anything like it. Certainly the faint, mournful melodies hummed roughly under hushed breaths never sounded like this. They sang only sorrow, aching and alone, quiet enough the overseers couldn’t hear. 

There’s words too, Yondu can just make them out. Something about water, and waking and leaving. Every note echoes soft between the metal walls of their cabin, going on and on and on. 

Something wet drips across his lips. It’s salty, when he tastes it, and it doesn’t stop. His hand reaches up, moving slowly as a dream to push against his cheek.

Fuck, he’s crying. Yondu sucks in a breath, holds it as he tries to force himself to stop. He hasn’t cried since he was an ugly little snot, only knee high to a Kree and still wailing and flaring his tiny tahlei in anger and bewilderment at the hurt of it all. 

He hadn’t cried when he’d been left for dead, bleeding out in a Kree gladiator pit. He hadn’t cried when Stakar had held out his hands to fend off Yondu’s snapping and snarling, telling him to put down the scalpel, he was safe now. He hadn’t cried when Martinex had handed him a fresh set of ink blue Ravagers leathers, pushed him in front of a mirror to watch his reflection standing spooked and alive and _free._

His hand slips down the frame, and his knees finally give from under him. The floor is cold, knees knocking painful as they hit it. 

Martinex’s voice cuts off abruptly. He turns, says worried, “Yondu? You hurt? Here, lemme–”

“Not,” Yondu voice is hoarse, and he stops, clears it. “Not hurt.” 

Of course he’s being all concerned. Ever since Stakar had stuck them together, Yondu kept waiting for Martinex to turn on him behind closed door, angry the captain had stuck some dirty, smart mouthed ex-slave in his relatively expansive bridge crew quarters. Except, Martinex never had, no matter how Yondu had needled him. Yondu didn’t understand him.

Martinex’s hand goes to Yondu’s arm as he kneels, but Yondu shakes him roughly away. “Fuck, Yondu you’re crying.”

“Not crying,” Yondu starts batting him away, struggling to his feet, “Anybody’d cry at the sight of your ugly mug.” 

The words fall hollow on his ears, hollow in his chest, but Martinex laughs. 

“Never stop, do you? Shoulda known as soon as you back chatted Stakar in the med bay,” he rolls his eyes. “You were barely even awake enough to know who you were talking to.”

His eyes rest heavy on the back of Yondu’s head as Yondu walks unsteady to his bunk. As soon as his face is hidden from Martinex he scrubs it roughly with both palms, blinks to clear his eyes. Something in his chest still aches a little, tender like it’s been kicked in again.

His jacket is the first to go, and Yondu unbuckles his pants and kicks them off too. All that tight leather finally off him, he flops onto the bed, burrows into it.  It’s big enough Yondu can stretch all the way out on it, furs warm enough he doesn’t spend the whole night shivering anymore. All his, to keep. 

“Y’know, you’ve got stuff t’sleep in, if you want it,” Martinex sounds amused for some reason. He’s finally stopped with that ridiculous tidying he’s doing, is meticulously cleaning his hands in the washroom sink. 

“I had t’wear clothes all day,” Yondu sniffs, squirms himself a little more deeply into the luxurious softness. “Stakar said so, but he didn’t say I hafta wear ‘em at night too.”

“Uh huh,” Martinex has finally finished, sits on his own bunk and cracks first one shoulder, then the other. There a beat of silence then he says softer, “D’ya wanna tell me what that was about, earlier.” 

Yondu flips to face the wall. 

“Nothing.”

Martinex doesn’t say anything, clearly waiting for Yondu to continue but he presses his lips, closes his eyes determinedly. 

Finally, Martinex says, “Hmm, ‘night then.” 

It’s silent, only the soft shuffle on Martinex shifting in his bed, the faint constant hum of the engines. 

“If you wanna do more of that singing, you don’t have t’stop cause of me.”

As soon as he says it, Yondu almost wishes he could take it back. His face is flushing navy, and he adds a sulky, “or whatever.” 

Martinex doesn’t say anything. Yondu curls tighter under the blankets, throws an arm over his head. 

But then… Martinex sings. It’s a different song than the one before, a little slower and slightly more melancholy. Yondu closes his eyes, shifts his arm off his face, and then doesn’t move a muscle. 

 

It’s a couple nights later, when he finds it on his pillow. It’s small, square and metallic, clearly a chip meant for a holopad. Martinex must have left it, unless Captain Stakar did. Yondu feeds it in carefully, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the holopad screen as it whirrs and blinks to life. 

It’s a data file, audio recordings probably from the little picture. He still has trouble with some of the technology on board, the keys and letters foreign and confusing. When he pokes at one though, it’s not the sound of talking. 

It’s music, probably twenty whole different ones, and Martinex had got them for him _._ Yondu blinks, blinks again harder, clutches the holopad a little closer. 

He falls asleep like that, holding it close.

**Author's Note:**

> comments = <3


End file.
